Fortuitous Associations
by rrgoettl
Summary: Sarkney AU. Syd and Vaughn go on a mission, and things go wrong as they are prone to do in Alias. Lots of snark, so enjoy! Light Vaughn bashing, but its all in good fun. Honest.
1. Prologue

Title: Fortuitous Associations

Author: Chiefhow

Rating: R

Ship: sarkney

Summary: A bit AU, fun sarkney action, without being too sappy. Syd and Vaughn go on a mission in Paris, and things go wrong, as they are prone to do.

Prologue

"Bastard."

"Language. What sort of example will that set for the children?"

"The children are with Mom. I can call you a f-"

"Sydney?"

"Fck" Vaughn had the unfortunate talent for showing up whenever she and her husband were having disagreements.

She composed her face into a more acceptable expression of vague interest. "Yes, did you need something?"

She could feel the ahole smile behind her back. Just wait until Sloane got to him. He wouldn't be so pleased with himself then.

Vaughn furrowed his brow in Sark's general direction. He had never particularly warmed to Sark, which Sark insisted has absolutely nothing to do with Vaughn's unfortunate leotard op of 2004. Sark maintained that he had no such sway with work assignments. Some people actually believed him.

Sark excused himself with a sardonic nod to Vaughn, and sought out a nice corner to lurk in and observe the conversation between his wife and her former handler. Him, jealous? Amused, was more how he liked to describe it.

"Sydney," Vaughn began in hushed tones "Is everything alright?"

Sydney managed not to roll her eyes. "I assure you I am perfectly comfortable with my mission's parameters. Do you have concerns?"

Vaughn fidgeted with something in his pocket. "I just, well. It isn't a problem. I mean, you and me, in Paris. Together." He finished, wistfully.

She blinked, and took a few seconds to mentally compose her response. "Agent Vaughn, I have no problem completing agency mandated assignments with you, no matter what the locale." She said, with finality, and turned on her heal towards Dixon's office.

Dixon looked up from an impressive stack of papers. Sometimes he added Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire to the bottom of the pile, for the dual purpose of making him look more busy, and allowing him to repeat the experience of Wormtail cutting off his own hand. Lousy Fcker.

"Yes?" he asked, hoping the spine of the book wasn't too prominent.

"Is the Paris mission necessary? I could do it by myself, you know." Sydney informed him, hoping not to seem too desperate.

"Sydney," Dixon sighed, tired of the same argument, and wanting desperately to return to the yuletide ball, "My decisions as Director are final. Besides, Vaughn hasn't been assigned many ops lately. We have to use him sometime. It's a waste of payroll to have him do paperwork all the time."

"He hasn't been assigned any ops lately because he's incompetent. Remember the leotard incident of 2004?"

"That was pretty bad. But it was a solo op; he'll have you to cover for him. It'll be fine."

"Right." Said Sydney, sarcastically.

"Well, now that that's settled, I have some urgent business to attend to." Said Dixon, returning his attention to the papers. The top on was an official looking document that confused him completely.

Sydney left the office with a silent and petulant _whatever_.

Life was decidedly more complicated upon her return three years ago. So what if she happened to come back with a former international terrorist for a hubby? They'd brought down a fiendish criminal organization, hadn't they? Can't please anybody these days.


	2. Chapter 1

Sark used the elevator ride to savor his wife's latest assignment. While he usually liked to have her to himself when the children were gone, the idea of her being forced into such close proximity of her moronic ex-beau was oddly satisfying. Additionally, it didn't hurt that he would be busy. His financial group was in the process of buying out a smaller but prestigious group that currently was relying on their good name rather than actual quality. The structure of the organization would need to be changed, negligent employees let go, which translated into very little naked time with the missus. If she spent the time away from him miserable and reminded by stark contrast how fantastic he was, well, so much the better.

He stepped out of the lift and nodded briefly to his receptionist Marta. There was one meeting he did not relish, however, and it was scheduled for the next day. He wanted to have all the correct numbers in order long before they were needed. His prey was, as Sydney would put it "tricksey" and he had no intention of letting the deal slide through without a great deal of pain on his "partner's" part.

Sloane. What a F#ckwad. Whoever thought it was a good idea to give him access to a large sum of money and the power to trade internationally should be impaled publicly and fed their own tongue. Roasted.

* * *

The scent of soggy cheerios awoke Irina. This was not in itself too horrible. She was particularly resistant to most methods of torture, so the odd scent here or there was nothing compared to the stench of one's own bodily fluids.

It was four in the morning.

Two sets of dark brown eyes blinked back at her.

The twins had gotten out of their crib again.

No one in her organization had been able to design a crib that contained the toddlers for long. Well, none that were child safe. She had had a long talk with Iosif about his creation, which included flamethrowers, mousetraps, several guillotine-like blades, and oddly enough, lemon-lime jello. She sent him off as head of intelligence for her eastern European branch. Intelligence gathering became three times as efficient within two months. Unfortunately, she did not feel his method's appropriate for her grandchildren.

"Is it time for breakfast already?" she asked blearily.

The twins were silent. Irina's theory was that Sark and Sydney spent so much time talking that the twins couldn't get a word in. Several speech therapists had been recommended, none however who had passed Irina's, Sark's, Sydney's, or Jack's stringent background checks.

Irina scooped one toddler up in each arm. They were getting heavy, pretty soon, she'd need help. Not that she trusted many of her employees with her darlings. It had become an unspoken rule that when the boss was with her grandchildren, one should run away, and forget you ever heard her cooing about "this little piggy".

The phone rang just as Irina reached the kitchen. She groaned, setting the twins in their respective high chairs. She strode over to the telephone and waited a moment for her breathing to return to normal. It was Jack.

"Yes? Is something wrong?" Irina asked. Jack rarely called unless something was. Or he made up a problem. She was never quite sure which.

"Sydney's been taken." Jack said bluntly, seeing no reason to beat around the bush.

Irina was already in problem solving mode. It would do no good to fall apart in front of her grandchildren, with her husband on the line. Her daughter had been compromised. Someone out there didn't know what was good for them. It was an insult, honestly. A challenge. Who thought she would just take that lying down?

"When? Where?" she asked.

"I'm flying to you now. All pertinent information has been sent already. I just thought you should hear it from me first, not from the file."

"Thank you." Said Irina, her words tight.

"You think this is my fault."

"Did I say that Jack?"

"I was here, and you were looking after the children, so she was my responsibility. Is that what you think? You have a lot of nerve." He finished dangerously.

"I'll see you soon Jack." Said Irina almost pleasantly, ignoring his anger. He'd get over it. Blaming him wouldn't bring Sydney back any sooner.


End file.
